


blue haze

by hiddinginshadows



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Family Fighting, Non-bending AU, Witch!Katara, future smut, or more so bending is extinct, or rare, traumatic past for zuko will be touched on, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-29 21:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20089204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddinginshadows/pseuds/hiddinginshadows
Summary: There are rumors that there is a strange woman who lives in the Fire Nation forest. Some call her a witch, but Zuko just calls her Katara.





	1. the witch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FictionIsSocialInquiry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionIsSocialInquiry/gifts).

He hears the whispers in the streets of his Nation about the loner who lives deep within the humid, bug trap they call a forest. She appeared one day, as if forming from the mist, and suddenly a hut sat within one of the only clearings of the forest, surrounded by plant life and herbs, and small ponds with fish. At least, Zuko hears that in the whispers at first. 

Soon, after the stranger’s arrival, other stories begin to lace into the once fairytale-like woman. People cross the forest and whisper about how they see her outside her home, whispering to nothing and plucking her herbs. They see her leaning over the pond, giggling to herself as she feeds the fish. They see smoke rise from the tilted chimney of her hut, smell exotic mixtures of spices and meats and herbs. The label from her rises after a young man from the Nation, one known for fabrications, Jet, speaks about how she enchanted him, drew him into her home and seduced him before laying a curse upon him. Bewitched him.

And thus, there is a witch in the Fire Nation’s forest.

As heir to the Lordship, he must know about the news going on in the villages that surround his home, the capital of their Nation. He knows about the sudden algae bloom in the western coast, forcing fishermen to go further out in the waters. He knows about the suspected, deadliest winter that is to strike the villages deep in the mountains because of his daily visits to the tea shop. He knows of the recent birth of the first triplets in the Southern coast after a proud father waves a letter in his hands. 

So, of course, when he hears about the witch, he knows exactly how to map out the trail to her hut from the various stories and decides to pay her a visit. Afterall, it is supposed to be his future Nation, and he needs to know all his citizens.

He plans to travel in the morning when the sun first breaks the horizon because, although she is in the heart of the forest which is only a half-day journey, he plans to visit the village on the other side for diplomatic purposes. His Uncle, the current Fire Lord of the Nation, ensures the culture of their Nation stays preserved. Thus, he sends Zuko on trips every other week, going from the capital to a village to check on their market and economy, families and communities. Also, it allows Zuko a chance to met his future citizens, to learn the proper ways of a Fire Lord for when he takes the throne in the upcoming years.

He opts to take his favorite horse, a red-chestnut stallion who is young and fidgety, but trustworthy and fast. Druk was gifted to him when he turned sixteen, from his Uncle. Once the saddle was tied down, saddlebags hanging full of supplies and emergency items, the sun decided to appear over the horizon, and Zuko left. 

He stops to use the bathroom once, stops to let Druk graze twice, and stops to curse at the map he made three times. When the sun is high in the sky, casting golden rays into the branches of the trees and creating a glittering, speckled forest floor, he finds the hut.

It is small, made from gray stone and red brick. The windows are open, white curtains dancing in the wind from the inside. Small, bell shaped blue flowers line the edge of all the windows, and around the home sat several small, marked off gardens. Zuko sees some herbs he recognizes, some that grew within the palace garden at home to attract bees and butterflies, but there's also plants he did not recognize, smaller, duller colored ones and ones that birthed bright, vibrant flowers. And there is a pond, just like the villagers whispered about. It is green-blue and crystal clear all at once. Once Zuko ties his horse off on a near-by tree, he moves towards the pond and gets a look inside. Koi fish swim around under lily pads, along with smaller silver fish.

The door of the hut hangs open, or more so the cottage. It feels homey, and when Zuko moves to the door, peering into the home and tapping his knuckles against the wood, he gets a peek at the inside. 

It is one large room, various candles hanging around the home and plants growing in every corner. There is a basic kitchen with a counter, some cabinets, and a heating pot. There is a large fire-place created from red brick, and smoldering wood in the heart of it. A basic rug made from sheep wool, a small wooden table with a few stools, a basket with knitting supplies, and other knick-knacks are strewn around the home. A large, brass tub sits in the furthest, right corner next to what Zuko assumed was the restroom, a basic wooden hatch that was closed at the moment upon the ground. Then, there is a bed against the furthest wall, in the middle of two windows. It is large, larger than any bed he had seen, and he lives in a palace. Various blankets and furs lay across it, and there are patterns of furs he didn’t even recognize. 

But, the most startling fact was that no one was there.

“Hello?” his voice is rough from the silent ride there.

“It’s rude to sneak up on a lady,” a cool voice comes from behind him and Zuko is startled, but he turns and puts on his best prince smile.

She is younger than him. Her skin is shades darker, a rich brown, her eyes cooler than his, and hair chocolate brown. It's pulled back half-way, tendrils out of her face but loose, natural curls hanging over her shoulders. She is wearing Fire Nation clothes, a red, half-top and short skirt with a long slit in the side, short leggings underneath. In her arms are bundles of wood from the forest. But the most interesting part, the tattoos.

They aren’t uncommon in the Fire Nation, but there is only one tattoo artist in the capital, an old woman who has needles and inks of different varieties for anyone who wishes to be marked. 

Deep, black ink decorates her skin, creating intricate, dotted patterns of the lunar cycle, the ocean and waves. It contrasts against her skin beautifully, and Zuko can tell what Jet meant when he said striking me off guard with her chilled eyes, but there is definitely something different by the cool, blue pools. She isn’t chilled, no, her piercing gaze holds nothing but irritation.

“Good afternoon, “ Zuko clears his throat, realizing he is staring a bit too long. He watches as her own eyes trail over him quickly, stopping on his scar, his neck, his hands. They flick back up, flashing for a mere moment. “My name is Zuko, and I am the --,”

“I don’t particularly care,” she cuts him off, rolling her eyes for a moment, and shifts the wood in her arms, “I just want to put this down before it splinters all over me.”

“Let me help,” he steps forward to grab the wood and she twists away, lips forming in a snarl.

“I can do it, I just need you to move out from my door.”

“Of course,” Zuko grits his teeth, “I was just trying to help.”

“Thanks, Zuko,” the way his name escapes her lips sends a shiver down his spine and he tries his best to ignore it, “but I’m a big girl.”

“I came by because I heard stories in my capital about a new citizen in the forest,” he continues speaking as he steps out of the door frame, allowing her entrance to her home, “and as the future Fire Lord, it is important to me to know all of my citizens.”

“Fire Lord?” The woman hums as she leans down and drops the wood next to the fire place. “Is that the title of your ruler?”

“You’re not from Fire Nation.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“No,” she turns and cocks a hip, crosses her arms, and holds her ground, “I traveled around a bit, and then settled in here recently. I have paperwork if you need it.”

“No need,” Zuko takes one last look around her home, “I just wanted to introduce myself. I am traveling to the village just on the other side of the forest, so I figured, since your home was on the way . . .,”

She purses her lips, full and tinged pink, as if she were thinking a moment. Zuko stands in her door frame, suddenly uncomfortable under her gaze. He clears his throat and gives a sharp wave with a flick of his wrist.

“I’ll be off now. If you need anything, the capital is just half a day’s travel west from here.”

“I’m fine out here,” she hums, “have a good day, Lord-in-training.”

“It’s Prince Zuko.”

“Prince Zuko.”

He leaves after that, nervous about the look in her eyes and the way her lips curl in amusement. He felt heat flush to his cheeks, and he glares at Druk as the horse makes huffing noises that seemed all too similar to a horse-laugh. Zuko unties Druk, mounts, and takes one last look at the hut. The woman is back outside, leaning over the pond and humming to herself as she peers inside at the fish. It’s not weird, and he can tell something sort of like a conversation is happening, but it is definitely different. He couldn't put his finger on it, so he left.

He stays in the village longer than he thought originally, and curses when he hears the sound of thunder overhead while going through the forest a few days later. He felt the humidity grow in the air earlier, the hint of a storm arriving, but did not expect it to arrive so quickly. As he rocks with Druk’s cantering, Zuko flinches at a particularly loud thunder crash. Druk hiccups in his steps, stumbles, and Zuko is sliding -- no, launching -- from the saddle. 

Druk takes a nice crash as well, the horse letting out a noise of fright as he falls to the side. Zuko curses as he hits the ground hard, something inside of his arm twinges in pain. And then, the first drop of rain hits.

It begins pouring within seconds and Zuko is standing there, wet and muddy and broken, looking at Druk who is laying on his side, throwing a tantrum. Zuko knows the horse is not hurt. Druk has taken harder falls, but the horse refuses to get up. Zuko calls him a few names, tugs at the reins, and then gives up. 

“If you want to have a fit,” he hisses, “I’ll be walking back home.”

Zuko walks for about ten minutes until Druk nudges him on the shoulder, finally caught up. 

The forest is dark as they walk, and the burning pain in Zuko’s arm has blossomed exponentially. When he comes across the hut, he mentally punches himself for forgetting about the woman. The village he had visited spoke little of the woman, so she had slipped his mind. But now, as Zuko stands in front of the hut, in the pouring rain, he wonders if the rumors of her from the capital are true. He doesn’t think for long, though, because a particularly loud strike of thunder pulls his thoughts towards the moment. He is standing in the pouring rain, injured and needs assistance. 

She answers the door after the first knock. Inside, the smell of stew wafts out and Zuko’s stomach makes an embarrassing noise. He is cradling his arm now and Druk huffs behind him, nudging the prince’s shoulder as if he was pushing the man towards the woman. Her eyes drag over him once and then she murmurs for him to take a bath and clean up while she put Durk in the small overhang behind her hut. 

He feels unsure, standing in this stranger’s home with wet clothes and an injured arm. He stands there, dripping, until she returns and makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen a naked man before,” she is now poking and prodding at his injured arm, “and I can help your arm. But first, you need to clean up so I can properly look at it.”

“I didn’t know you were a healer,” Zuko is pushed towards the bath in the corner which is already filled with water and he blushes when he realizes it was her bath that he was about to steal. 

“In my village, it’s common for women to be trained as healers,” she explains as she turns toward the large pot that the amazing smell came from. Zuko took this as his time to undress, trying not to injure himself anymore. “What do your people call me?”

“The mysterious woman who showed up one day in the forest,” he hisses at the coolness of the tub, sinking in quickly to avoid her eyes. The woman turns around, raising a brow as if she knew his answer was not the real one, “they say you’re a witch.”

“Oh,” is all she says before turning back to her food. 

“There’s a man from where I live,” Zuko continues, not knowing why he is choosing to tell her this fact, “who says you, ah, seduced him. And others have seen you talking to the pond and your plants. They suspect you are a witch.”

“And what do you think?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

It’s in this moment, while he is soaking in her tub and she is stirring away, sprinkling herbs into her pot, that he realizes he doesn’t know her name. When he opens his mouth to speak, she answers his question as if reading his mind. “Katara.”

“That’s not Fire Nation,” he feels stupid because he had already known she wasn’t from the Fire Nation from their previous interaction. 

“No,” she hums and taps her wooden spoon on the side of the pot, “Water Tribe. Specifically Southern Water Tribe.”

“You’re far away from home.”

“I could say the same for you, Prince Zuko,” she is now rummaging through some cabinets and pulls out two wooden bowls, “though, I suppose not as far as me.”

“I travel for diplomatic reasons,” he shifts in the tub and looks around for a moment, “I do trips every other week to the villages around the Fire Nation to ensure my people are doing well.”

“Nobel ruler,” Katara pours the stew into the two bowls and then turns towards him, “the drying cloths are under the tub.”

He doesn’t move. Instead, he stays in the tub as Katara moves around the kitchen. She doesn’t look at him, but her presence is enough to make him nervous. It isn’t that he wants to stay in the bath, he just doesn’t have proper clothes. After Katara begins eating, sitting on a stool by a window near the fireplace, it dawns on her.

“Clothes,” she drops the spoon in her bowl and closes her eyes, “Tui. Sorry, I have clothes. Let me …,” 

She moves to the bed against the wall and kneels before it. As she does so, rummaging below it, Zuko leaves the tub and reaches for the drying cloth underneath it. He is tucking a corner of the cloth into itself around his hips when Katara hums happily. He peers below his wet, shaggy bangs and sees her standing with a pale, gray tunic and darker shaded pants. Male clothes.

“Here,” she walks towards him and thrusts the clothing in his hand, “quickly before your food gets cold.”

She is odd and Zuko isn’t sure what to make of her, but Katara has yet to cause a serious threat, so he does as he is told. Soon, he is sitting across from her in a stranger's clothes, eating a stew that is hearty and nowhere near spicy enough, and trying not to be caught staring at the women. Closer to her, he can see a faint scar across her lip, another across her brow bone. Her cheekbones are high, but her face is round and full. Thick eyebrows pull together as she looks out the window and into the pouring rain. Zuko can hear the crash of thunder echo into the home. He hopes Druk is okay.

“I think your horse will be mostly dry in the morning,” Katara turns to him and Zuko wonders if she truly can read minds, if the rumors are real, “the storm will pass through the night.”

“Fire Nation storms are pretty unpredictable,” Zuko picks his bowl up, finished eating the meats and vegetables in the stew, and begins sipping the broth.

“Trust me, it will be gone.”

Zuko simply hums and finishes the broth as Katara gets up and collects her empty bowl along with his. 

“So,” Katara says as she places the bowls and spoons into a shallow bucket that is propped on a wooden counter, “you said you are a Lord-in-training?”

“Prince,” Zuko shifts in his seat, facing her properly, “A Lordship some people call it. My Uncle named my the heir after his own son passed away on a mission to the Earth Kingdom a few years back.”

“We don’t have Princes where I come from,” Katara turns around, wringing her hands into the skirt she wore, drying them, “Chiefs. Warriors. Healers.”

“I’ve never been to the Water Tribe’s, but Uncle makes a point of visiting the Northern Water Tribe at least three times in the year. I keep watch here.”

“It’s cold,” Katara leans against the counter, eyes drifting off as if she is remembering something, “Northern is much more advanced, city-like. The Southern is more … homey.”

“You’re from the Southern Water Tribe, right?”

She nods and her shoulders relax as she brings herself back to the moment, offering the Prince a weak smile. Zuko feels himself warm at the sight of her doing so, and clears his throat a bit as he looks out the window.

“What about your father,” Katara offers for more conversation, “you said your Uncle appointed you as the heir, but is it common for your people to skip a generation? Typically the first born in the Water Tribe takes over as Chief, and if they do not bear children or their child dies, the next in line will be their younger sibling. If someone wishes to challenge the lineage, a fight takes place and the strongest opponent takes the Chief title.”

“Skipping around in the family, it’s not … unheard of,” Zuko feels his shoulders tense a bit as he watches raindrops slide down the glass, “my family is … it’s complicated and you don’t need to hear my ramblings.”

“Just a curious citizen,” she hums and pushes herself off the counter, “I mean, after all, your citizens probably know your story. You’re royalty and royal families are raised with all eyes on them.”

“You speak as though you have experience.”

Katara shrugs and simply walks towards the door of the hut where a candle is burning against the wall. She blows it out, killing some of the light in the room. Zuko realizes that she must be making to go to bed for the night. The moon has been out for some time, its silver rays of light cutting through the storm clouds occasionally. 

“Do you have a bed roll?” Zuko stands and pushes his chair in, “I think mine is a bit too wet and muddy to use at the moment.”

“No, but you can share my bed.”

“I … what?”

“Is it odd?” Katara raises a single brow as she blows out another candle. “My people are very casual with sharing. Beds, baths, food, clothes. We are a family, not just some village of strangers. Is that uncommon in the Fire Nation? Sharing?”

“Our traditions are a bit more reserved,” Zuko clears his throat and helps to extinguish another candle, darkening the room more, “often times people do not share beds until engaged, or married. And they usually are arranged if they are of a higher ranking. Workers and farmers tend to be more flexible with the traditions, but not royals.”

“Well,” Katara is contemplating, trying to figure out a solution so she would not offend him.

“I am the one staying here,” Zuko turns towards her and gives a slight bow, hands clasped in front of him as best as possible with his injured arm, “thank you for the food and housing. I am grateful. I can sleep on the ground tonight.”

“Do royals typically bow to peasants?”

“I never said you were a peasant,” he peers up to her while still bowing, “and I understand my role is for the people. It is important to show just as much respect for my citizens as it is for them to show me.”

“The floor will be cold,” in the light of the last candle, Zuko can make out the faint blush that dust’s across her cheeks as she turns towards the last candle. He stands up as she continues to talk, “I have no shame in sharing my bed with another person who needs it. Also, your arm. Let me take a look at it.”

She guides him towards the last candle in the room and gently lifts his arm into the light. It’s scraped up, the wounds had stopped bleeding by this point, but it was still red and raw and sore. Soaking it in the bath had helped ease the muscles, but Zuko knew there needed to be more done to ensure its healing, and he is the furthest thing from a healer. 

Katara’s brows knit together and Zuko watches her fingers dance over his skin, feeling for anything underneath. She hums when Zuko hisses in pain as she pokes at his wrist. A few moments later, she scurries off, opening a cabinet and looking through its contents. There is a splash, some draining, and then a cool rag is applied to his arm.

“Keep this on through the night,” Katara instructs as she wraps it around him, “it will keep the wound hydrated and open to help the healing. In the morning I can apply a salve and wrap it for your journey home.”

“Thank you,” his voice is raw and he clears his throat when he notices her eyes peering up towards him again. He hadn’t realized just how much taller he was than her, her eyes at level with his collarbone. As they stood closer to each other, she had to tilt her head just so in order to see his face.

“I don’t mean to pry,” her voice turns gentle and she reaches out. Zuko flinches for a moment when her fingers touch the rough skin of his cheek, hand resting against the scarred flesh that covered nearly half of his face, part of his ear, and curled below his jawline, “but this … how did it happen?”

“Some stories are best for saving for a later day,” the words of his Uncle slip out easily as Zuko closes his eyes, trying not to surface the painful memory. His father, angry about Zuko challenging him. His sister, frightened in the corner but a smile on her lips. Hot coals. The smell of burning flesh.

“Sorry,” her voice pulls him back and he opens his eyes and smiles as she removes her hand.

“No worries,” Zuko shrugs, “like I said, a later day.”

There is an awkward silence that fills the hut and Katara clears her throat and suggests they should sleep. Both of them shuffle to the bed, Zuko climbing on top of the covers on the right side while Katara slips underneath the left side. For having a stranger in bed, Katara falls asleep quickly, the sound of her gentle breathing slowly lulling Zuko into his own rest. Before he knows it, his eyes are closed and he feels his heartbeat rest, his breathing matching that of the woman next to him. Darkness covers him.

When he wakes, he shakes off the odd dreams he had about a woman whispering over him, cools hands caressing his body and face. He looks to his left and finds the bed empty and made, Katara nowhere to be seen. Even as he peers around the cabin, there is no sign of the woman. He sits up, and realizes the wet cloth that was wrapped around him in the previous night is gone, and the skin below is unscathed. He flexes the muscles, amazed by the lack of pain.

He was healed. As if it were magic.


	2. the princess

“How was your journey?”

Zuko lifts his head from behind Druk’s back to see his Uncle standing by the mouth of the barn. The man’s gray hair is pulled into a top-knot, a small, but noticeable flame-shaped hair piece tucked into it. He wears loose red robes that drape to the ground even though it is warm and humid after the rain the previous night. His Uncle smiles to him, golden eyes glinting with curiosity as if he knew of Zuko’s happenings with the witch.

Zuko knew he shouldn’t call her that, but after waking in the morning to see his arm completely healed, he wasn’t sure what other term to use. 

“Longer than needed,” Zuko responds and goes back to untacking the horse. A servant had offered earlier, but Zuko needed time alone to process what the later part of his trip had entailed. 

“The witch,” his Uncle moves into the barn, “did you see her?”

“She’s a simple woman who moved here recently,” Zuko lifts Druk’s saddle with a huff, “and she is no threat, if that is what you are asking.”

“A simple woman …,” 

“Yes. She lives in a hut by herself with hand-made furniture and clothes. She seems to sustain herself from the garden she has and from hunting. She doesn’t have any weapons.”

“You know what her furniture looks like?”

Zuko curses to himself as he places the saddle on the pole that stuck out from the wall. He stops there, thinking for a moment, and then turns to see his Uncle brushing a hand down Druk’s back. Zuko didn’t like the way the two looked at each other, Druk’s nose pressed to Uncle’s chest as they looked into each others eyes. It felt like there was an unknown conversation going on between them.

“I helped her bring in some wood from the forest,” Zuko walks towards his horse and his Uncle. He yanks the padding from Druk’s back and then leads the horse into his stall.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you spending the night in a witch’s home?”

“W-what?” Zuko feels himself flush as he quickly turns away from his Uncle and places the padding over the door to dry.

“A few traders came from the village yesterday. They said they saw you leave around the same time as them, and yet you arrived this morning? Well fed and rested, I noted.”

Zuko takes a deep breath and glares at Druk who makes his usual horse-laugh noise. Different answers roll through his mind and as Zuko opens his mouth to respond, someone calls for his Uncle outside of the barn.

“Firelord Iroh,” the servant is out of breath and both of the royal men turn to face the servant. He bows deeply to the both of them, his face red as if he had been running for a while. There is a stricken look on his face and Zuko feels his chest tighten. The only times the servants looked that nervous was when …

“The Phoenix has perched,” the code comes out of the servant’s lips, wavering, “and he brings the ashes.”

“I see,” Iroh brings his hand up to his chin, rubbing his beard, “tell the kitchen to prepare some tea. Inform the visitors to wait for me in the formal tea room. Ensure they are comfortable. Zuko?”

“Yes Firelord,” Zuko snaps into the moment, back straightening and hands clasped behind his back as he turns into the Prince he is supposed to be. Future ruler of the Fire Nation.

“Go ahead and change into something deemed presentable to our guests,” Iroh turns and gives his nephew a gentle smile, “and do not worry. Phoenix's can only live so long before they burn out.”

“And then they are born from their ashes,” Zuko retorts, his heart racing.

“Not if you scatter them.”

With his final words, Iroh leaves. Zuko waits until his Uncle is completely gone from the barn before letting out a long breath he was holding. He turns towards Druk’s stall and grips the door, knuckles turn white as he tries to calm his heart rate. Druk nudges the young man’s head and Zuko lets out one last breath before looking up to the horse. He runs a gentle hand across Druk’s nose and then leaves for the palace.

The palace isn’t a mansion built to show power and wealth like some of the other Nations in the world they lived in. It was high upon a hill to overlook the capital below. Thousands of stairs lead up to the face of the home, and a winding road for carts and horses was created as well, arching up to the doors and back down to the main road. The palace itself was mostly many rooms connected by outdoor hallways. In the center was the garden which had ponds and fountains, plants and flowers of exotic types. The front building was used for greetings. It was small with high ceilings and furnished lavishly. Then, the two buildings flanking the front were tea rooms, one for formal events and the other for casual. Down the left and right sides of the palace were bedrooms for various guests. Servants lived off sight of the place in a dormitory towards the back of the property, next to the barn. The most important rooms were the back three. In the center was the council room where the Firelord would be debriefed by his councilman every month about what was going on in the different provinces. Then, to the left of the council room was the war room, which had not been used since Iroh had taken ruling. On the right was the library which was filled with records that went thousands of years back.

Zuko makes his was past the library, walking into the open hall of the palace from the back of the property. He sees across the garden where servants are grouped around the visitors and Zuko tries his best to walk fast to his room. It is the last one on the left hallway, and only a few more feet away. As his hand wraps around the golden door handle, he hears someone call his name. A familiar, high pitched, chilling voice from far away. He yanks the door open, rushes inside, and makes sure it is locked behind him.

It takes him another minute of breathing until he undresses and makes his way into the bathing room, a small chamber that held a simple tub that was connected to water through underground pipes. He fills the tub and cleans himself quickly. When he leaves his room, he notices an outfit is laid out for him, one he hasn’t worn for a long time. 

It is formal Prince wear, red pants and top garnished in golden accents. There is gold shoulder plates, smaller than the ones he used to wear, but still curved to a point to accent his shoulders. Then, there is the small golden crown, carved into the form of a flame. Ancient Firelords were firebenders, but bending had become extinct over the years. A lost art some would say, and a blessing to the Nations as other would put it.

He dresses himself quickly, adjusting everything to be perfectly straight before pulling half of his hair into a top knot and placing the crown into the base of it. After taking another moment to flatten the front of the tunic, Zuko leaves to face his family.

“Zuko,” his name leaks from his father's lips, who sits across from him on a floor pillow, a steaming cup of tea in the man’s hands. His face, an older version of Zuko’s, is twisted into an almost painful smile. “You look nice.”

“Well fed,” an equally chilling voice comes from his sister, the younger girl sitting next to their father with her own tea in hands. 

They sit up straight, legs folded underneath them. They are decorated in reds and golds, and their shoulder plates are much taller, sharper and more polished than Zuko and Iroh’s. They look dangerous.

“Keeping busy helps me focus on the important things,” Zuko answers, reaching for his own cup of tea from the short table in front of them, “becoming a beloved and trusted Firelord.”

He forces himself not to smirk at the way Ozai’s jaw ticks. Azula looks as if she could bend fire from her eyes. If benders were still around, Zuko was sure that his father and sister would be the most powerful fire benders in the Fire Nation. 

“What brings you here, brother,” Iroh speaks up, the Firelord smiling tensely to the two relatives across from him, “I thought you were still on Ember Island helping oversee the new industrial work going on there. I was told there was a good coal finding that could help out debts to the Earth Kingdom.”

“Yes, that is true, but I am here on different matters. Serious matters.”

“Everything is serious with you, young brother,” Iroh chuckles, sipping his tea.

“Well, we got word from one of the smaller villages on Ember Island, of a mysterious woman appearing from the ocean,” Ozai puts his tea down and places his hands flat on his thighs. Azula copies him.

“And what about her?” Zuko presses.

“The villagers said she was a witch at first,” Azula answers, eyes like daggers, “and when Father and I went to investigate, we discovered that was was a bender. A water bender.”

“That’s impossible,” Zuko scoffs, feeling his heart quicken at the mention of a witch, “benders are extinct. The bloodline ran out from all Nations hundreds of years ago.”

“It’s not impossible, nephew,” Iroh said calmly, placing his own tea down, “just rare.”

“She escaped as we were trying to detain her. We figured we should come here ourselves to inform you. And look around.” Azula lifts her tea with a pinky held high.

“I appreciate the concern, Azula,” Iroh says, and Azula hisses the words Princess Azula under her breath, “but Zuko and I can handle whatever matters are occurring in the capital.”

“We don’t know if she landed in the capital,” Ozai said, “so we would like to take a few of your soldiers and search for her before she becomes a threat.”

“Well, was she hurting anyone?” Iroh raises a brow. “Was she drowning people with her bending? Causing tsunamis and monsoons? Bloodbending?”

“Bloodbending?” Zuko coughs on his tea.

“Another lesson, nephew,” Iroh waves him off, his eyes still locked onto his younger brother. “I am waiting for an answer, General Ozai.”

The hatred in Ozai’s eyes hardens at the mention of his title. His jaw locks and Zuko watches as his father’s fingers twitch on his thighs, trying to suppress his anger. Zuko swallows hard, his heart picking up for a moment as fear surges through his body. He keeps his face hard like stone, forcing himself to not allow his family to see his utter fear of them. 

“No reports of injury, but it’s only a matter of time,” Ozai pushes, “Once the Avatar’s lineage was ended, and benders had no one to watch over them, the world went into chaos. Wars and bloodshed. It’s in the scrolls, no bender is safe. We must not allow it to get back into the bloodlines.”

“We have bender blood ourselves, have you forgotten that our grandfather was the last fire bender?” Iroh narrows his eyes at Ozai. “I believe you wished for your own blood to be that of a fire bender when you were younger, if I recall. Not to mention the tests you forced your own children through.”

“Fire bending is an art,” Azula snorts, crossing her arms, “the scrolls all said --,”

“The scrolls were written by Fire Benders,” Iroh’s voice snaps and he stands, flattening out the front of his robe, “I will not allow you to take any of my soldiers for this mission of yours. You are more than welcome to stay here for a few days to rest from your travel, but I need you to oversee Ember Island. That is my rule. Finish your tea if you would like, and the servants will show you to your rooms. Prince Zuko.”

Zuko stands and follows his Uncle out of the tea room. The large doors are closed behind the two and Zuko relaxes, shoulders no longer tense. Iroh stands tall next to him, even though Zuko is over a foot taller than the older man. Iroh starts walking towards the garden and Zuko follows, hands clasped behind his back as he continues to present his Princely role. The two made it to the middle of the garden, where a tall fountain stood and ducklings swam in the center, their mother leading them in circles. 

“Tomorrow, visit the woman,” Iroh says, eyes staring into the pond, “see if she is who they are talking about.” 

“And if she is?”

Iroh stares at the fountain for a moment longer before sighing and closing his eyes.

“Bring her here. We will decide what to do from there.”

\--

“Odd to see you back here so soon,” Katara says, a basket on her hip with greens peeking out of the top. She wears a simple pale red dress that ends above her knees. It binds around her chest, showing off her shoulders and collarbones. And the top of her breasts, but Zuko clears his throat and pulls his eyes from the top of her dress. He lets Druk go and the horse walks a few feet away to munch on an area of grass.

“I had some … visitors yesterday from Ember Island,” his eyes study her and she doesn’t make any noticeable shifts, just blinks at him as she waits for him to talk longer, “they said a village on the island spoke about a witch.”

“So I’m not the only witch in the Fire Nation,” Katara chuckles and shifts the basket on her hip, “come inside, this basket is getting heavy and I need to clean the greens.”

He follows her in and opts for sitting at the small table where they shared a meal the other night. Katara puts the basket on the counter and dips her hands into the pot next to her, stirring what he suspected was water inside of it with her hands before beginning to submerge the greens she pulled from her garden.

“Well, the visitors had said they went to investigate,” Zuko continues, watching her, “and when they found her, it turned out she was a bender.”

“A bender? They’re extinct.”

“A water bender.”

That causes her to freeze for a moment and Zuko watches as her shoulders tense and she turns around, blue eyes wide. He knows he caught her.

Zuko stands and walks towards the woman who leans back against the counter, fingers gripping at the edge of it. Her eyes dart towards the water in the pot next to her. As she lifts an arm, Zuko grabs her wrist, holding it tightly to stop her movement. She gasps and looks at him, their eyes searching each others for a brief moment.

“Say no,” Zuko practically whispers, “say no and then I won’t have to do anything.”

“I-I,” her eyes are frantic and he can feel her fingers twitch from his grip. 

A knock at her door pulls both of them away from the moment. They look at the door where another frantic knock comes. Zuko releases Katara and sighs deeply as he steps away, raking a hand through his hair. The woman turns towards the door and opens it a crack, asking who it was and what they wanted. After a moment, Katara opens the door wider and an older man and woman come stumbling in, a young child in the arms of the man. 

The child's arm, a young girl, was tangled in wires, bloody and messy. Half of her face was scarred up with cuts and her pant leg was ripped, torn into shreds with a matching, injured leg below.

"Put her in the tub," Katara’s voice is even as she instructs the strangers. Her eyes look to Zuko, pleading that he help and not question. "I need those greens I was cleaning earlier. And my grinding bowl."

Zuko nods and does as she says. He walks into the kitchen, heart pounding at the frantic cries of the mother and father. He turns around to see the tub is now filled with water somehow, the window pulled wide open. Zuko peers out and his breath hitches at the sight of the dead forest, a whole area drained of all life and dark. 

"Thank you," Katara is now kneeling next to the tub and she begins pulling specific greens out from the basket he gave her, putting them into the grinding bowl and then shoving them back to Zuko. "Into a pulp. It will help her sleep through the process."

He wants to ask her what process she was talking about and why there was a dead area of forest from her window and how did the tub get full, but the sobbing of the parents makes him just nod and do as he is told. He grinds the greens down and Katara leans into the tub and begins pulling the young girls clothes from her. From where Zuko is, he can see that the water is now stained pink from all the blood. He hears Katara curse under her breath as her fingers work over the young girls body, feeling for any injuries underneath her skin. 

"Here," Zuko thrusts the bowl towards Katara a moment later, voice ragged. She swipes some of the green pulp on her fingers and then opens the girls mouth with her other hand. Her fingers covered in pulp thrust into the girls mouth and Katara massages her throat until the girl is forced to swallow. That's when Zuko realizes the girl isn't knocked out because she lets out a long groan and her uninjured eyes flutter open, revealing pale, oblique blue eyes.

“She’s blind,” the mother says from behind Zuko, “We are on vacation from the Earth Kingdom and … we got into a fight and she ran and … she fell down a hill right into a farmer’s fencing. We were told to come here, that you could …,”

“Don’t worry,” Katara looks over her shoulder at the two and gets more pulp on her fingers, “I can help.”

“Kat . . .,” Zuko cuts of her name, unsure if others know and, looks at the woman. Her blue eyes seem to burn into him.

“If you don’t want to have to do anything,” she whispers, “I suggest you leave.”

He stands there, the bowl growing heavy in his hand, but he nods. He places the bowl next to her and then rests his hand on her shoulder. She places her dry hand on top of his, fingers cold against the warm back of his hand. She gives him one squeeze and then lets go. He turns his back when he sees the water shine blue, and leaves.

\--

“She’s not a water bender,” Zuko reports to his Uncle once he returns, sitting in the casual tea room with the man, “just a healer.”

“And you are sure about this?” Iroh sips at the green tea blend he put together. Zuko wonders if the man can hear the strain in his voice.

“Yes.”

Iroh nods and then dismisses Zuko, telling him to rest. Zuko thanks his Uncle for the tea, wishes him goodnight, and then hurries to his room. Once there, he opens the tall window against the back of the wall, breathing in the crisp night air. The curtains framing to the window dance in the breeze, first being pushed into his room and then pulled out as if the tide of the ocean. Zuko closes his eyes, the image of the bath water turning blue around the young girl Katara was healing flashing over his eyelids.

Healing with water bending. 

He didn’t directly see it, but he knew. His stomach twists at the thought of having to bring her to the palace, about his Uncle having to meet the young, beautiful woman and decide her fate. His father and sister smirking in satisfaction of discovering the bender. Their sick smiles as she was punished.

Benders were rare, yes, but whenever one was found, they were quickly taken care of. Zuko remembers, as a child, the whispers within the Earth Kingdom of a young earth bender being alive, born to a peasant family. He was visiting the nation with his mother and father, Azula just a babe. They were sitting in the main dining hall with different royals from the Earth Kingdom. They were visiting for diplomatic reasons, or as his mother had said, so the Firelord could ‘play nice’ with the other nations. 

As they were in the middle of their meal, the main hall doors swung open and two guards came in, dragging a young boy between them. Zuko remembers seeing the boy, probably eight, with dirt over his face and tear streaks running down his cheeks. His hair was tussles, clothes were ragged, and his knees were scraped badly. Zuko had heard his mother gasp beside him. 

“We found the earth bender,” one of the soldiers had announced, and the hall had erupted in whispers and gasps. The ruler of the Earth Nation had simply nodded and told the soldiers to do what needed to be done. The next day, people cheered in the streets as black smoke rose from the palace and the smell of burnt flesh filled the streets, cheering at the death of a bender.

Zuko didn’t understand at the time, what a bender was exactly, but he had heard his family whisper about it before; his father arguing with his mother about some sort of test. A test Zuko would ultimately fail. 

“Prince Zuko?” A voice pulls him back to reality and he opens his eyes to see a figure standing outside of his window, the curtains cutting off his line of vision but the light of the moon allowing him to see the outline of a figure.

“Who goes there?” Zuko’s voice turns into his Prince persona, “and what are you doing on the Firelord’s property?”

“What a nice way to greet a visitor,” the figure moves forward and pushes the cutrians away, revealing themselves as Katara.

“Katara, what are you doing here?” Zuko hisses at her and reaches out, grabbing her wrist. She moves forward with his grip, stumbling over the edge of the window and into his room. Zuko lets her go and closes the windows, drawing the curtains fully closed. He turns to the woman who is no longer in the outfit he saw earlier, but this time dress in a black long sleeve top and pants, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She is wringing her hands in front of her as if nervous.

“The family had to stay the night at my home,” she says, pushing a strain of hair behind her ear, “their daughter was too weak. And it’s a full moon, so I am restless and …,”

“So it’s true.”

“Yes,” she looks at him, blue eyes strong yet melancholy, “I am a water bender.”

They stand in silence, looking at each other in the dimly lit room. Zuko then nods.

“Can I see?”

“You,” Katara pauses and he can see her eyebrows wrinkle together in confusion, “you want to see me bend?”

“Yes, is that odd?”

“I mean, I never …,” she trails off and her eyes go a little distant before she pulls back and gives a kind of child-like excited smile. She tells him to wait there and quickly makes her way towards his bathing chamber, the door already open. She returns with a bowl of water and nods her head for him to come forward. She settles the bowl on the floor in front of the foot of his bed and Zuko sits there, watching her.

She closes her eyes, breathes deep, and then her body moves. Her feet slid silently across the floor as she moves into a stance that looks like she’s about to fight, but her hands are fluid, fingers loose and wrists relaxed. She then flicks her wrists up and the water in the bowl snakes up, taking the form of a long, thing line. Zuko can’t help the way his mouth opens at the sight.

She is moving more, twisting her body and moving her arms slowly, making the water move around her, twist in the air and shake in its form. It turns from water to steam to ice through her movements, trails around her body as she spins and bends. Then, as soon as she started, she ends it, and the water slinks back into the bowl. She isn’t even tired, her breath still even, but her eyes hold a simple ring of blue, her pupils blown wide.

“That was,” he whispers, “I-I …,”

“I was pretty surprised the first time it happened,” she kneels before the water, fingers twisting above it, “I was about five, and my mother was giving me a bath and then I made the water float. She told me to never do it again, and I listened until I turned thirteen. I traveled to the Northern Water Tribe with my father then, and explored their library and found these scrolls about water bending and … I trained at night in the Spirit Oasis and taught myself. Then, I found scrolls on healing and,” she stops herself, realizing she is rambling.

“It’s incredible,” he says, sliding off the bed and moving towards her. He kneels on the ground in front of her, eye trained on the way the water twitches under her finger tips, “is that what you did to the girl? You healed her?”

“And you,” her voice comes out sheepishly as if she were embarrassed.

“I want to see that,” Zuko says, standing abruptly, “I want to see you heal.”

“Well, unless one of us wants to give the other a broken finger,” she snorts, but in the time the words come out, Zuko is across the room at a candle, holding his palm flat over it. Katara starts to get up, about to rush to him, but stops when she notices the emotionless look on his face, as if the heat of a flame was nothing to him. He turns back, showing her his palm which was now pink and raw with a burn.

Katara stands and summons the water to cover her hand like a glove. She moves toward Zuko and then turns his hand over, his palm up towards the ceiling. She runs her water covered palm over his burnt one, and Zuko watches as the water glows blue and a cool, soothing sensation covers his burn. When she lets go a moment later, his skin is healed and soft, no evidence of the burn there at all.

“That’s why people call me a witch,” she says softly, the water disappearing from her hand and into the air. She keeps her hands holding the back of his, her fingers cold against his skin. “They knew I was a bender but … I healed their sick and injured, and I taught them about different pulps and salves and ointments they could make from plants. That's why they didn’t tell about me but … on Ember Island, I was found by a General and his daughter, because of people spreading word about me.”

“General Ozai and Princess Azula,” Zuko looks at her and sees her peering up from beneath her eyelashes, searching his own eyes for answers, “they are … the visitors I was talking about earlier.”

“They tried to capture me, taunted me with death, but I escaped and came here. Everything was calm and peaceful until Jet came through. He was injured, and I offered to heal him and then we had some wine and … then when you came, I was worried, and when you said you were the Prince of the Fire Nation I almost froze you there on the spot, but …,”

“But?”

“But, I could tell there was something different about you,” she tilts her head up fully, “you weren’t frightened by me, or about my differences from your Nation. You were curious.”

“I guess I’m still curious.”

“Then I guess I was right.”

“About?”

She looks at him for a moment longer before pushing up on her toes and pressing her lips against his gently. He lets out a noise of surprise, but his hand quickly folds into hers and the other hand grabs at her waist, holding her loosely. Her lips are cool and soft under his, and her breath icy cool as she sighs into his mouth. He is the one who pulls them apart and her eyes open, a slight flush over her cheeks.

“The moon,” he says as his hand raises, brushing some stray hairs behind her ear, “it has something to do with your bending.”

“In the old days, water benders learned how to bend from the moon spirit, Tui. When the moon is at its fullest, my bending abilities are the strongest. Usually I take tonight to go out to a village and heal but, after the incident today, I’d rather lay low.”

“Is that why you’re here? Because your home is currently preoccupied and you need a place to stay?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she looks down and her hand ghosts over the one he has against her cheek, “I left my Tribe for … independence, and I don’t know anyone in the Nation here other than you.”

“And I just so happen to be the Prince of this Nation,” he smirks at the way she rolls her eyes. “You can stay here. I have empty rooms but … General Ozai and Princess Azula are here currently. They are suppose to leave in two days time to return to Ember Island. If you wish to stay here until then … to dissolve their suspicions, you may.” 

“Can I stay here for a while longer?” she asks, pulling away from him, “I just … the moon is making me pretty restless and I need to bend.”

“Don’t let me hold you back,” he moves around her and towards his bathing room, “I am getting ready for bed, you may stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you, Zuko.”

He shuts the door behind him and presses his back to it, letting out the breath he was holding. She was a bander, a water bender, and she was in his room. And he wasn’t afraid. He was actually curious. He enjoyed watching her, enjoyed the way she moved as if she was the water, the way she opened up to him, took his hand in her own. The way she looked up at him, her eyes brimming with emotion. The way she kissed him.

Zuko curses at himself, running fingers through his dark locks and tugging with frustration. He quickly makes himself a bath, cleaned himself up, and then dresses in a pair of loose, dark pants. When he leaves the bathing room, a towel tossed over his shoulder and hair still wet, he comes into the room to Katara bending her water, eyes closed and body moving. It took all of his willpower to not move towards her, bask in the way she danced with the water, the way she bended the element. Instead, he climbed onto his bed, sat with his legs tucked under him, and watched.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed in his room like that, with her bending and him watching, but eventually she let the water go back into the bowl and opened her eyes. Shining bright, and thankful as they look into his. He smiles sheepishly at her, and she makes her way over towards his bed. He feels his heart pick up as her hand reaches out and she touches the side of his face, the one with his scar. 

“You said a later day,” her voice ghosts over him and sends a chill down his spine and goosebumps over his arms.

“It is a later day,” he answers, his hand covering hers, “my family has fire bending in their bloodline, my great grandfather was the last fire bender. My father, he thought that … that the bending would just skip generations and that I would be born with it, or my sister. When I was thirteen, he decided to test it. I had heard him talking to my mother about it before, about some test he had read about in the scrolls, and how he wanted to see if I was a fire bender or my sister. He thought … thinks that the Fire Nation should be the leader of the world and if one of his heirs was a fire bender than it would be that much easier to take over,

“It started with simple hand-over-flame tests, to see how long we could endure the pain, but that wasn’t enough. My sister would always grit her teeth, try to impress our father but, ultimately, he hoped it was me. He grew frustrated one day, while we were testing, and … I talked back when I shouldn’t have. The next thing I knew he was pushing me into the flame, and I felt the coals against my skin … and my sister was laughing in the background. The smell was … he gave this to me.”

“Zuko,” her voice is painful and he closes his eyes, his fingers tightening over hers. 

“I don’t need the sympathy, I have healed. It kind of pushes me to be better. Once I was sent to the infirmary, and my Uncle found out, he took my father out of the line of succession and named me as the heir of the throne. He moved my father and sister to oversee a province.”

“Ember Island,” Katara says, her thumb stroking across his cheek, “when I saw that man, the General, and then you …,”

“General Ozai and Princess Azula may be my blood, my relatives,” he looks at her with his golden eyes piercing into her blue ones, “but they are not my family. My family is my Uncle and my Nation. Maybe even Druk, but he can be frustrating sometimes.”

That gets a laugh from her and she strokes her thumb across his cheek once more. He pulls her hand away from his scar and brushes his lips over her knuckles, closing his eyes as he breathes in the smell of crip water from her fingertips.

“I tried to heal it, that night,” she whispers, “I know it isn’t my place but … I knew that there was a terrible, terrible reason for it. You’re too … too noble to have such a marking.”

“It is a part of me now,” he lets her hand go and Katara’s arm falls limply to her side.

“I suppose I should share stories of my own,” she sighs and climbs onto the bed, sitting next to him, “I was born in the Southern Water Tribe. My mother passed away when I was younger from an illness after we discovered my bending abilities. Then, when we visited the Northern Water Tribe, I was to be engaged to a warrior there. I had been training myself for some time by then, and I was pretty upset about the arrangement, to say the least, so I left. I told them that I was separating myself from them for some time. That was three years ago … and they think I am gone, or at least hiding well enough.”

“You … wait, you’re the --,” Realization dawns on Zuko and he wants to punch himself for not realizing soon. 

“I was labeled the Missing Princess, but we never really followed those terms,” she shrugs, picking at a thread in her pants, “my father was the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, I was his daughter. There’s no label to it, but once I left, and word got out, it just happened.”

“Do you miss them? Your family?”

“Yes,” she looks up towards the far wall of his room, tears pricking her eyes, “everyday, more and more.”

“Why don’t you go back?”

“I’m needed here,” she turns to him, her tears gone, “healing is what I do, helping those who need it most. My Tribe has plenty of healers, but the Fire Nation seems to be lacking. I guess you could say it is my destiny.”

“Sounds too fairy-tale to call it that,” he smiles, “Maybe a passion.”

“Definitely a passion,” her eyes flash with want and flicker down towards his lips before returning to his gaze. “The sun will be up in a few hours, we should rest.”

“Of course. I can show you to the room next to me,” he moves to get up but Katara grabs his wrist, stopping him.

“Or,” she looks down, and he can see a slight blush on her cheeks, “I can stay here for the night. I can leave in the morning.”

“You can stay as long as you need,” he turns towards her, “you can hide in here from Ozai and Azula until they leave.”

“Thank you,” she whispers again, and then lets him go and shifts towards the head of his bed. She curls up on top of the covers, facing him. He feels his heart skip a beat as he lays next to her, hands curled, unsure where they should go.

“I never thought there would be a witch in my forest,” he says to her with a smirk, “and a princess in my bed. Especially if they were the same person.”

“Not a princess,” she smirks back, “just born under the right circumstances.”

He hums and reaches towards her, pushing more hair from her face, fingers tracing around her ear, down the outline of her jaw, her neck, and across her shoulder. He feels her slight shiver at his touch, watches the way her eyes lid over when he runs his fingers up the back of her neck and into the base of her hair. When she opens them, Zuko pulls her closer, lips ghosting over hers for a moment before pressing forward. 

And he thinks for a moment, maybe benders were always good. 

Especially the ones who turned out to be princesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, took some time but I'm proud of it. Proof read it myself so apologizes for any errors that may have slipped by. One more chapter to go!

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a drabble for a friend of mine, @FictionIsSocialInguiry, but it evolved into a three-part fic. This is part one! Also, I proof rad this by myself about five times so apologizes for any errors you may find! Hope you enjoy!


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